


A Bed of Gossips and Blessings

by Estivate



Category: Thor (Movies)
Genre: (Eel + Snake + Narwhal hybrid), Angst, Body Worship, Courtly Love, Florid prose, Gothic Nordic Fairytale, Intersex Loki, Interspecies Romance, M/M, Poetic Pining, Sexy-times style TBD
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-08
Updated: 2019-06-08
Packaged: 2020-04-12 16:16:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,236
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19135624
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Estivate/pseuds/Estivate
Summary: “These are unlike our own metal-work. Where did you get them?”“Some place warm. Some place they call me ‘sirena’.”---The ocean gives, and the ocean taketh away.As a boy, Thor had always waited upon the shores to see the bow of his father’s ship emerge from the mist.In the years since, he’s outgrown the childish expectation of waiting for his father on the seas, but the ocean’s infinite aquamarine has never released its hold on him, and though he should resent the sight so, what remained after the enmity and longing, was a feeling of timeless familiarity that has since settled into his senses like the smell of sea salt.





	A Bed of Gossips and Blessings

**Author's Note:**

  * For [MatadorCocktail](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MatadorCocktail/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Mer Loki AU](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/488617) by Moonsterm. 



> 1\. A bed of eels and snakes.  
> 2\. A gossip of mermaids.  
> 3\. A blessing of narwhals.
> 
>  
> 
> For Moonsterm, whose art enchanted me the first time I laid eyes on it. As well for Ceci, who loves Moonsterm's art as much as I do. 
> 
> This work is strictly fanfiction based on fanart, and while it does its best to adhere to the narrative and vision of the artist, some liberties are taken and may eventually diverge into its own story separate from additional fanart the artist may create for their AU.

 

 

 

The ocean gives, and the ocean taketh away.

 

As a boy, Thor had always waited upon the shores to see the bow of his father’s ship emerge from the mist.

 

In the years since, he’s outgrown the childish expectation of waiting for his father on the seas, but the ocean’s infinite aquamarine has never released its hold on him, and though he should resent the sight so, what remained after the enmity and longing, was a feeling of timeless familiarity that has since settled into his senses like the smell of sea salt.

 

Though the waters are a frigid comfort in these Northern climes. Thor grasps his red cloak tighter around his shoulders, and walks to where it’s secluded, where the sand is softest on the tread of his boots underfoot. There are always so many sounds during the day of a fisherman’s village that Thor can seldom wait until the quiet of sunset.

 

Here there are no squalling gulls nor that of men making their trade by the dock. Other than home, close to the hearth, when mother is weaving and Baldr rocked close to the breast, the sand and shore demand nothing of him. And wonders even less.

 

The villagers call him a strange lad, having lost his father so young. His mother calls him filial, having mourned in her own way and not begrudging her son for his. And so daily she lets him leave for the shores when the day’s work is done. So long as Thor never steps foot on a boat himself.

 

Instead Thor attends to the smithery’s kilns, shaping metal to all its uses, the sparks of embers jumping by the impact of the trade’s clashing rhythm. Day after day – but ah, tis an honest living for those resigned on land. Compared to that, the sounds of the waves are smooth where his living is harsh, though it’d be a mistake to think them any less dangerous. Between calm waters and portentous ones, Thor has learned to tell the difference.

 

He doesn’t intend on letting her take anything more from him.

 

What strange bounty must lie in the depths where sunlight cannot penetrate, and men have not sailed. What foreign sights must exist beyond the lands of his home, faraway past the edge of his world. He has heard of less pleasant things from lore passed down. Stories of war and famine, plague and fire. Their ancestors sought to escape from all of that, chancing on fate to lead them to somewhere the sea can separate them from the danger of battle and toppled kingdoms.

 

When Thor was younger, he’d tug on his mother’s sleeve at night, firelight dimming, for just one more impressive tale. It wasn’t until the loss of his father did he grow out of such ideals of blood and heroics.

 

Yet. On some days. The waves serve to remind him of such a world out there by the items that wash upon her shore. Items of such exotic form or make that Thor can scarcely conjure their setting of origin, and baffled, even more, how they should have drifted here.

 

He quirks a fond smile at the seaweed streaked slicks of sand. Stepping over them as they reach for his foot with each ebb and flow. Scans the landscape past the foam and brine coated rocks. The stretched shadows of things embedded in the sand are his usual tell, and once he had found a single gold coin from an unknown civilization – patterned indentations and design. The face of who was surely a monarch on one side and the emblem of some fantastical beast on the other.

 

He had hidden the coin well and sworn to never trade it.

 

At the time he had thought there was surely a shipwreck nearby with treasures of unfathomable wealth – but these lands are not the kinds frequented by any known emissaries or sea-faring tradesmen. And so he had not told anyone else of his discovery. Hoping to keep the sanctity of this shore to himself.

 

Something catches his eye.

 

The ocean has seen fit to give today.

 

\---

 

The shadow of a form, serpentine and sapphire, hides in the shallows, watching as his gift has been bestowed. The man looks a little broader this time, and Loki isn’t sure whether that’s because he is growing still or because his search has taken more time than usual.

 

He cannot part with gold every time after all – it’s his favourite material in sea or on land, that much he’s sure, and he often hoards it from the water lodged hulls of shipwrecks, or from the pockets of corpses from men lured by their fantasy of mermaids. He has had his fair share of copper and silver to be sure, but gold does not tarnish in salt water, and for that it is the best.

 

What fine make can adorn him he wears on his body. His un-decorated brethren scoff at his strange habits. But then, they are much bigger, and no accessory made for a human would fit them anyhow. Loki takes a point of pride knowing that there are some advantages to be had by being small.

 

Laufey rumbles his deep oceanic displeasure at Loki’s vanity, but can say nothing as he is still able to keep up with them on their journeys across the seven seas. For he does not let the weight of his gold drag him down, and pets indulgently at the coins woven into his hair – dark curls of ink strands drifting in front of his face as he tries to gaze longingly at the shore’s blond stranger.

 

That was a kind of gold Loki also wanted.

 

He dreamily wonders what it would look like for such a head of blond hair to also drift and sway in the current. Almost purrs a delicate column of bubbles at the thought – but, he remembers that humans do not do well in water. Loki doesn’t even know if this one swims, but doubts it given how terribly un-streamlined his body is.

 

He doesn’t know how to get closer to the boy without scaring him. He only knows that he visits this beach always when the weather is obliging. Depending on the location, most cultures had their own stories of merfolk, but Loki doesn’t know how similarly or accurate the tales are here.

 

But the stranger was so lovely.

 

He sits on the seat of a rock, smoothed and weathered by the high tides, and turns the bauble over in his hands. Staying until the sun sinks.

 

His smile as radiant as his hair.

 

\---

 

In the dark depths where all light is lost, lie large and languorous bodies within a network of labyrinthine caves.  Those some call monsters. Loki’s red eyes find his kin, slumbering in the swaddling cold. Not quite sea serpents. Larger even.

 

He prods Bylsteir with the bones of a meal unfortunate enough to swim too close to the mouth, knowing how lazy his brother is to chase after his catches. Bylsteir’s groans resound through the rocks, waking up Helblindi next to him.

 

He snaps his teeth in a show of annoyance.

 

Loki tugs on his fin in reply and trills his demand into his ear. “A human. I want one.”

 

Helblindi shifts, rolling to the side, remembering fond days past when he was smaller and more slender, of foolish men wading to their watery deaths by the mere flick of a tail and the imitation of a woman’s song. “Tis not difficult for one of your stature.”

 

Loki hisses. “I don’t want to _eat_ him.”

 

Bylsteir licks his lips, perplexed. “Why else then?”

 

Confirming that his large siblings had no further insight in this regard (not that his expectations were much), Loki pats Bylsteir’s giant head back to slumber. Slumps back against the form of his body, eased by the rhythm of his snores.

 

But sleep evades him even as he coils in on himself pressing against midnight scales.

 

\---

 

Frigga was born in these temperate lands, and in turn she has birthed two more. Hardy and healthy children that carry on her husband’s name, alive yet and blessed golden, despite their father’s absence. Here, where they make their living near the sea and summer being such a short turn of the seasons, her sons provide her with warmth when the fireside has burned low at night and when her shawl is too thin for the frost-bound wind.

 

Nonetheless, the difficulty of being a widow is keenly felt on days when the sea appears calm.

 

For the children of the village, it’s too great a temptation to be drawn towards the tides. Mothers do all they can to warn against its dangers, but it is an early compromise to be reconciled with their way of life. They shutter the windows of their houses on stormy nights and warn them against the lure of moonlit sands.

 

 _Never go where the water is dark._ _Its bleak blackness returns only those with blank eyes. Lifeless. If it deigns to do even that much._

 

Odin’s body never washed ashore. Had it so, she wonders if she’d cease looking for his ghost on the waves.

 

The sound of a wooden door creaking – Thor’s return – breaks her from such solemn thoughts. His hair is mussed, and she tenderly smooths it back, taking him into an embrace.

 

“Mother.” he greets, laying a kiss upon her cheek despite the state of his chapped lips.

 

She steers him towards the table and prepares a wooden bowl and ladle. In summer, their meals are heartier and more varied. Thor spoons greedily after the taste of fresh vegetables in the soup. It won’t be long before the only familiar ingredients are salted fish and pickled preserves. No one here can afford to be picky, but neither is he unappreciative.

 

Frigga smiles and sits across from him. “What sights might you permit your forlorn mother to know of that her son should stray so far from home as he often does?”

 

She’s only teasing, really.

 

So it’s to her delighted surprise when Thor carefully places an elaborate shell of some sort on the table. Her eyes widen. She’s never seen anything like it. It almost didn’t look real – such a delicate coloring on such a grand form, can barely bring herself to touch.

 

The only shells to be found here were ever the rugged and simple sort. Dark or ordinary in its coloring, and often damaged by the batting waves. Instead, before her was a great conch, by which she didn’t even know the word to call it by. Perfect and extraordinary.

 

And strange.

 

She takes the opportunity to admire: its outside a variegated white-cream, swirled to a spiral tipped crown in a shape so naturally pleasing to the eye despite clearly not by human design. But even more alluring is the smooth inner belly – golden pink and rose peach.

 

Frigga cannot fathom the creature that produced such a thing – rather, it looks as if it came from an underwater palace of pearl and calcite, now settled here upon their modest table surface.

 

“Oh Thor,” she breathes, reverent.

 

The things Thor has shown her, they do not speak of it outside the walls of their home. Others would start to regard them with skepticism. Word travels quickly in a small village, and when so many have so little, envy at what more others possess follows swift behind gossip.

 

How fortune or misfortune courses on the currents, bring they riches or tragedy – they are beyond mortal understanding. She does not question it necessarily, yet shaking her head she tells him, “I know not why the shore you grace should carry with it such things of splendor, but my love, it seems it’s the only one.”

 

\---

 

The Asiatic seas are a pleasure to swim in for different reasons than the Atlantic: richer and more diverse in the diversity of creatures living in warmer waters. During days of rest, Loki will glide away from the pod to beach himself on the shallows of a curled crescent volcanic lip, inert. Its black sand silken and soft underneath him as he soaks in the afternoon’s heat.

 

He is always alone on these excursions, his brothers much more clumsy on land, burdened by their own great bodies, but these days, more often than not, his thoughts always stray back to that secret shore, visited by that one familiar figure.

 

Loki remembers the first time he’d seen him – half the span slighter than he was now – how the blond Asgardian gazed out with innocent anticipation. Above him was the endless azure of the sky, an ever-present reminder on days fair of the human whose eyes were fairer.

 

He undulates his tail wistfully in the clear waters below his waist.

 

\---

 

Fandral grunts while pulling the boat’s curved sternpost to securely shore it. Thor is ready to help and assist as the men file out, weary after a day’s empty prospects, nothing to show in their fishing nets. They trudge past the pair towards the nearest tavern, salt and sea spray having seeped its way into their bearing. The only cure for such being a good tankard of ale and a warm establishment to drink in.

 

Always one in merry spirits, no matter the situation, Fandral huffs a good-natured laugh and shrugs. “It’s not unheard of.”

 

There aren’t even any gulls waiting on dock for the chance morsel through slipped netting, or one thrown at them to temporarily quiet the squalling birds. 

 

Thor is not nearly as superstitious as the men who go out on the waters every day, and tries his best to be assuring, clasping his hand on his friend’s shoulder. “Tis only today.” That’s not to say he isn’t completely above superstition, and so he keeps his words to the mere observation of a small grace.

 

“They’ll come back. In time.” Fandral concedes. The ocean is a fickle mistress to be beholden – this too will pass, as long as the village does nothing to incur her displeasure.

 

Together they square their shoulders and turn towards land. He can see how the windows of huts become lit as evening closes in one deep blue gradient at a time along the hour, hoping the husbands of their households can be guided back without stumble.

 

“It’s always made me wonder what keeps them away however.”

 

From the decorative awnings of each door, to the carved wooden toys of children, are the persistent everyday reminders of creatures of the depths whose forms and imaginings are ones to be paid respects to, if not outright feared. They have coexisted side by side in understanding for this long after all, and never does the village take more than is necessary for survival.

 

Thor looks back at the waves just long enough to wonder.

 

\---

 

Near the balmy archipelago lies a cluster of kingdoms to the Celebes Sea. He lounges from a distance in the craggy outcrop of obsidian rock, observing the way pearl hunters chance their lives for a dive deep enough, all in the effort of retrieving oysters from their beds for the nacreous gems. Such strange things humans long after. Already, three grown men have failed to surface.

 

What value could encourage such perils? A sultan’s praise? Money for one’s freedom or life? An offering to the goddess of love herself?

 

All but for an over-rounded grain of sand the mollusc considered an irritant it could not expel and produced in the most perfect form of sublimate pain.

 

Loki scoffs. _He_ does not have the same limitations for underwater eyesight or length of held breath. So he should be able to find one of quality easily, and from the dark pitch of a water column that no human could ever hope to reach.

 

Swimming off to fetch Helblindi, Loki instructs his older brother to break open the shells of innocent oysters one by one, letting him slurp through the flesh of those he finished inspecting.

 

Helblindi, the glutton that he is. Together they de-bed an entire colony.

 

\---

 

He is on the beach again, as is a welcome habit. The wind tousles his hair into a lanky mane. The small, loose braids help little. Running his hand through the strands will not untangle them, but he gives it a few tries, combing from temple to nape.

 

Today he knows he will not find anything.

 

It’s not until he realizes such a simple matter with such certainty that he wonders how he knows it at all.

 

After all, he has only just set foot on the beach, but its shores are lively – as can indeed be expected of a beach. Birds wade close, outpacing his steps and creating imprints in the sand as they chase after food. Crabs scuttle sideways, producing foam from their mouthparts.

 

Had he truly been expecting something other than? He strolls from the hard crunch of rounded pebbles to a crouch just past where the waterline greets. Gently touching the tips of his fingers to the sand. All that he sees are the presence of tiny rocks washed small and made insignificant by time and tide.

 

He belatedly discerns…that it’s only when the shore is vacant does he find things.

 

Thor recollects. The sun dipping underneath the horizon, sending to him merely its glimmering, aureate light along the lapping waves. Sometimes he wonders if the ocean hasn’t settled in his eyes as well as his heart, the way it lapses back and forth, distant then near, in perpetuity.

 

In his reverie, curiosity pools until the sun has drowned itself and he is alone again. Weary, he treads home.

 

\---

 

Autumn brings with it a taste of crisp nostalgia, and every fall Thor sheds his woes except for the colors of the leaves. Their hues heralding the end of summer that he had so loved. The departing season leaving its blessings to the villagers in the form of Idunn’s apples.

 

Golden in all their means except for gold itself. Frigga always looks forward to the harvest with delight. Baldr helps by plucking them from where he perches atop his mother’s shoulders. Amongst each household a basket for collecting, and for each family size, the number of baskets to match. She balances it against her hip and takes a moment to savour their ripe scent when Thor comes up from behind, grabbing the one Baldr had reached for and taking a bite.

 

The day is warm and serene, but quickly its hours become shorter. Already the shadows stretch, and for Thor, the sea once again beckons.

 

Frigga sighs and uses her handkerchief to wrap three apples in. “Alright but take these.”

 

He thanks her with a kiss on the brow before continuing his way.

 

The path is thin but well-trodden. He’d likely be able to walk it blind. It’s an amusing thought but he doesn’t attempt it. It’s been nearly a season since he’s seen anything to match the conch, and at night, whenever he takes it out to admire, he imagines the hot green waters and scalding white sands of its origin.

 

Since then the village has been preparing for winter. The fish had returned and filled their nets. Meanwhile, Thor tempers steel and iron – hard and heated work, and many times it feels only the briny mist will soothe his aching muscles.

 

Thor’s always been drawn to the sea and now, it seems, he doesn’t know how to be long without it. Tis only a few more paces before he crests the height of a hillock, and there it is.

 

The tall grass and reeds are the first to give way to the landscape’s transition at the edge of the earth. The shore itself is peculiarly still except for the surf.

 

He tries not to feel expectant from that hint.

 

Tells himself that it’s just a good a day as any to prove his suspicions wrong. That it would’ve been absurd—

 

Then the light catches on something that flashes like a giant silver scale, and Thor’s mind surrenders to the excitement. Rushing forward to see, it’s not a scale at all, rather, the remaining half of a bivalve – larger than the entire width of his hand. The shell itself is beautiful: its lustrous blue, green, and purple inlaid tones like Northern lights. Had that alone been what there was to see, it would’ve been surprising enough, but sitting inside the shell were three splendid pearls.

 

But they were not the kind of pearls Thor was used to.

 

For Thor, the only pearls he’d known were the ones that were as tiny grit in an unfortunate mussel that found itself as dinner. The kind that was more likely to be swallowed let alone noticed, and when it was, only as something harshly unpleasant interrupting his chewing. Something little more than the grain of sand it was to begin with. 

 

The three before him now however could’ve been set into crowns. One silver like the moon, the second gold like the sun, and the third, his favourite, a deep-sea green. All of them iridescent.

 

He takes a moment to simply sit down and contemplate.

 

It was all too much to be coincidence.

 

Like the pearls themselves and how they came – a manner in which was all too perfect. Thor had wondered, and now he starts to believe, that there is something in the water. Its gifts deliberate.

 

He does not own much of value excluding what he has kept from his mysterious giver but concludes that it would be in poor taste not to reciprocate. Something. Anything.

 

So he shifts and takes out an apple, hefts it in hand. The skin bright yellow. It could hardly be compared to anything he’s received but…at worst if he’s wrong then it’s not too great of a loss.

 

Feeling not a little silly, Thor brings his arm back and pitches his throw forward. Not knowing what to do anymore after that, other than to sit on the shore a little longer and watch the sunset.

 

\---

 

Loki had taken an additional precaution in the placement of his find for the stranger. With the previous items, he’d drift them along towards the beach with a giant sweep of his tail, but the pearls were small and loose and threatened to wash away. Earlier he had come on shore to neatly arrange, then like usual, he waited and watched for the treasures to be found.

 

He was not disappointed, and in fact, rather pleased judging by the expression.

 

Even though Helblindi had gotten some shards of shell stuck in his teeth for the trouble, but what was that in comparison?

 

Loki expected the afternoon would go the same way as the previous ones: staring at a distance from the brimming water until he left for home.

 

Until something drops into the water, with him releasing a stream of surprised bubbles.

 

 

 

Round like a ball, he reaches upwards to catch.

 

Gold? It looked like gold?

 

But when he holds it, the weight doesn’t suit. He tests it with teeth instead – even more surprised when there’s give. Instead of a metal tang, an earthy sweetness fills his mouth. Like nothing he’s ever tasted in his life. Oh but heavens, it was incredibly sweet! And sweetness was rare in the ocean where everything of sustenance was either fatty or saline.

 

Loki’s heart suddenly fills with gratitude, and he continues to eat. What wondrous things the humans could procure on land, and what more of it, Loki desires.

 

\---

 

The apple didn’t come bobbing back, so Thor waits. He’s cupping the pearls in his palm and therefore not looking at the sea when an apple core sails through the air and hits him on the head. As he jolts his gaze up, he catches the flick of a tail.

 

Alright. Yes. Something most definitely lurked in the water. Of which its attention was now on him.

 

He rises on his feet, trying not to pretend this wasn’t, all at once, very real and bizarre. He still has two more.

 

“Show yourself!” he yells.

 

For a few momentary breaths there is nothing, but then Thor detects a stirring as sinuous movement breaks the predictable ridges of the tide. It moves towards a rock peak on his far right, fins and scales emerging from the surface.

 

 _A sea serpent._ He thinks, aghast.

 

Before the recognizable features of arms and torso raise up as well to clutch the rock’s purchase. Finally, a face emerges, hair and body decked in exotic gold.

 

_A mermaid._

 

The sight astounds and shocks him. He is too stunned to move anywhere except to drop his mouth. From the velvet waters rose a cerulean figure, elegant as a sea snake and twice as fearsome.

 

Thor wonders distantly if he should run, but he’s caught on the gaze of blood red eyes. He has heard the tales of merfolk and how they have led souls astray. Being tricksters of the most seductive kind and will sing sibilant to you all the ways of a beauteous death, till you are naught but bone silk on the seafloor.

 

But he has no intentions of dying today, and his feet are yet planted on solid ground. Thor remembers himself once more.

 

“Who are you?” he demands.

 

An icy chill runs down his spine. Every token he has received now takes on a different intention.

 

_And what is it you want from me?_

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Imma huge magpie, in case anyone hasn't noticed already. Prepare for lotsa descriptions of BLING.
> 
> Comments and inspo go hand in hand ; )


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